Kathe Koja by The Cipher (epub)

Author:The Cipher (epub)
Format: epub
Published: 2023-11-28T00:00:00+00:00

No time to waste, Malcolm. Leather lab coat, stink of smoke, grinning at me from the salt-scarred pavement. Head wolf, come confident alone without the pack. Daylight was no good for Malcolm, total dark was his milieu. His sunglasses were crooked. “Where’re you goin’?” he said.

“Right now I’m going grocery shopping,” not stopping but slowing, a little, giving him the moment to join me if he was going to. “You can come with me if you want.”

“Grocery shopping,” with a lilt meant to show amusement, or maybe merely shitty. He fell into step with me, or rather linked his ironic amble to my perpetual slouch. I bet he even shaved ironically. “I usually let my girlfriend handle all that.”

“You said you were always ready for new experiences, right?” Sliding into my car, letting him wait a minute before I unlocked the passenger door. “Have one on me.” Nyah nyah, I can do irony too.

Silence between us made me nervous, as nervous as the frigid planes of the day around me. Above the choking sound of my heater, I said, “Are you off work today, or what?”

“I’m an artist,” now definitely shitty, but willing not to chew me a new asshole for the sake of belittling my ignorance. Under other, less complex circumstances, I could have had a lot of laughs out of this guy. “I’m always working.”

“Uh-huh.” Into the IGA parking lot, an acre of slush and abandoned carts, cars parked at strange angles. Inside was even brighter than outside. The cart I chose had a twisted front wheel; I kept helplessly hitting aisle displays, other carts, even Malcolm once or twice. “Beer,” I said, cart inventory, “mineral water. Crackers. Eggs.”

“Real domestic type, aren’t you?”

“Peanut butter.”

“How can you eat that stuff?” pointing at my no-brand peanut butter with genuine disdain. “Peter Pan’s the only good kind.”

I had to borrow two bucks from him at the checkout. Malcolm smoked all the way home, pretentious Gitanes, clenching one between his teeth when he talked. His sunglasses were still crooked. He criticized every song on the radio until in self-defense I put on the all-news station; then he mocked the news. As I parked, I thought about Randy’s plan to feed Malcolm to the Funhole. “Randy’s right,” I said, one bag in my right arm—newly bandaged hand throbbing in dull rhythm, shit I had forgotten to buy gauze—two in my left. Malcolm didn’t offer to help.

“Right about what?” he wanted to know, following me up the stairs.

“About you.”

“And what does Randy say about me?”

“That you’re unique.”

He laughed. “I bet he does. Hey, Nick, let me tell you something about Randy. Randy’s a grease monkey, he works for a goddamn gas station—”

“Towing service.”

“Whatever. Him and his twatty little steel pieces, I mean come on, they all look like car bumpers, stop bringing your work home with you.” He laughed and I didn’t. “He’s a failed sculptor, he’s a failure at life. He just hasn’t realized it yet.”

“How’s things at the clothes store?” I asked, pausing for my door key.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.